


It's Practically Magic.

by katasstropheee



Series: HacyWeek [6]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, First Meetings, Flirting, Practical magic - Freeform, hacyweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25200532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katasstropheee/pseuds/katasstropheee
Summary: A Hacy Coffeeshop AU loosely based on the plot of Practical Magic (1998).
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn
Series: HacyWeek [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818364
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	It's Practically Magic.

**Author's Note:**

> For day six of [#hacyweek](http://hacyweek.tumblr.com).  
> Prompt: Alternate Universe.
> 
> I love this movie so much, and knew instantly that it would suit Hacy too well.
> 
> Also, this might be the best thing I've ever written, in my own humble opinion. But really it's up to you all to decide that...

Macy hadn’t set foot in Coupeville in five years.

She had road in on the first ferry of Tuesday morning, gazing into the blaring sunlight that lit up Whidbey Island in all its timeworn glory. There was nothing wrong with the town itself, far from it. On occasion she even missed it.

But the town had secrets, deep in its roots. And her family was at the center of it. She came from a long dynasty of strong woman. Some called them witches. Others called them devils. Macy had been called every other name under the sun and then some.

And that was all before the incident that had drove her out of town permanently. Five years was a long time to be away from home. She couldn’t deny that a part of her was curious to see if anything had changed since she left it all behind.

Her first stop off the ferry was Main Street. Named as it was so. All the high end boutiques (at least ‘high end’ for the island) and tourist destinations had their open signs flipped over. It was only 8 am but already, everything was bustling at a steady pace. The smell of fresh pastries brought back memories once lost to Macy, ones she could look back on fondly. She let them in, relieved that she wasn’t openly met with disdain or tragedy.

But the scent also gave way to a rumble in her stomach. Her nerves this morning were too much to handle, so she decided to skip breakfast before heading out. That had been two hours ago. Now she was standing in the very place that put her on edge, she felt it was safe enough to eat something without it coming right back up again.

She decided to head towards the first spot that caught her eye. That happened to be a small café pinched between an old flower shop and real estate agency. She could hear the soft swell of jazz before she opened the door. The ringing of a small bell announced her entrance.

“I’ll be right with you, just take a seat” called a voice from the back.

She didn’t reply. Her eyes took in the small store and its ivory decor. It must be new, since she didn’t recognise this place from all those years ago. And she was pretty sure this used to be a nail salon…

“Oh my god, is that… Marisol’s daughter?”

She caught the harsh whisper from behind her. Even with the soft music providing a comfortable backdrop, the woman might as well have been shouting. She didn’t turn, paying them no mind. She owed no one in this town the time or day, especially if it was just for ridicule.

“Why is she back?”

“ _Ugh_ , she should’ve known better.”

She squeezed her fists tight, trying to let their comments roll right off her shoulders.

“I thought she’d be gone for good for once that _bitch_ bit the dust!”

“Yeah, well you were wrong.”

She didn’t mean to speak up. She had promised herself she wouldn’t stir up trouble on this trip. She didn’t think she would be around long enough to. But that promise was broken the minute they spoke ill of her mother.

The two woman in question were older than 60 and looked too dolled up for a mid-week brunch in a place like this. In fact, every woman who grew up on this island in high class dressed like they were attending church every day. Maybe it was like armour for them, because they knew God would smite them down if they heard every utterance of hate and spite they spat from their mouths.

“That’s right ladies” she carried on, enjoying the gobsmacked expressions on their faces for a moment longer. “The _bitch_ is back.” She presented herself with outstretched arms, putting on the show she knew the town expected of her. If they called her a whore for wearing a spaghetti-strap maroon dress and loose black cardigan, then so be it. Macy was over their judgements.

One of the woman (Macy recognised distinctly from town hall, the mayor’s previous secretary to be exact) went to speak up again. But before she could say a thing, a loud ding came from behind the counter. Macy jumped in surprise. All woman were now facing the owner of the café, who wore a polite smile on his face. “Mrs Etheridge, Mrs Jones. Isn’t it almost time for your bridge game?” His voice sounded charitable to the untrained ear, but Macy could feel the contempt dripping off each word. She could understand why _she_ would feel this way, but this stranger was unaware of the conversation they were having, or the history behind it.

Even so, his assertion into their chat was meant as a suggestion, one both woman took quickly.

But Macy wasn’t done with them just yet. As Mrs Jones went to stand, Macy quickly flicked out her wrist. It was a gesture most would see as a simple stretch of the joint, nothing nefarious at all.

But at the sudden movement, Mrs Jones half-full tea cup toppled over. The remaining liquid flew through the air and landed perfectly at the center of her white blouse. She screamed in terror, fanning the spot on her shirt as Mrs Etheridge panicked in her search for a napkin. The baron had stepped out from behind his barrier to assist. Macy simply lent back, feigning shock by holding a hand over her mouth. Really, it was to hide the laughter that threatened to burst right out of her.

But this satisfaction was to be internal. For her eyes only. _That’s what you get for speaking of my mother that way, bitch!_ she thought.

The two woman’s endless fussing was ushered out the door, followed by resounding apologies and a promise of an extra cream tart with her tea the next morning. She deserved less than that in Macy’s eyes, but she couldn’t blame the man. He had a reputation to uphold, for as long as it could last in this town.

Once the room had settled and nothing but the sweet and soothing buzz of a saxophone could be heard over the speaker, the man turned to address his new customer. “I apologise for that. If you were distressed in any way-“

“What. Me?” Macy was surprised with the way this conversation was turning. Surely she should be the one apprehended for what just occurred.

“You looked distressed.”

“Oh. Well, I wasn’t.” She bit back defensively. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes. That much I could tell as well.” He moved swiftly back behind the counter, approaching the register and standing to attention. “So, what would you like this morning?”

She was still startled at the irregular kindness she was receiving from this stranger. “Just a latte, thank you.”

“Would you like that in a mug, or-“

“To go!” Her statement startled them both. She hadn’t come to the conclusion that she would be leaving yet. Frankly, a part of her wanted to stay. Something about this man drew her in, and her scientist side wanted to figure out the variables of why this was.

But it was too late now – he had already picked up a disposable cup and had a felt-tip marker pressed into its surface. He peeked up from beneath his lashes. “Your name?”

She looked around the empty store, displaying her hands to exaggerate her point. “Is that necessary?”

“No” he jested in agreement. “I’m just being polite.”

She hummed, a smile creasing her cheek before she can stop it. “Okay. I’m Macy.”

“Macy. Beautiful. _Arme._ ”

“Beg your pardon.”

He looked up, offering her a cocky smirk. “It’s French, for ‘weapon’.”

“Ah.” _How appropriate._ “And you are?” she gestured, counteracting his politeness with forced interest.

“Harry” he replied. A simple name for such a strange enigma of a man.

“Harry.” She said it slowly, sounding out each letter. “Which means…”

“Army ruler.”

“Oh, of course you would know that.”

“Well it’s a pretty simple name.”

“As is Macy.”

“Hm, I had yet to meet a Macy until you. I’d say that’s rare.”

She squinted her eyes. She didn’t know why she felt so challenged by Harry. He was flirting with her, obviously. But every word he uttered stirred something deep in Macy’s chest. He had an effect on her she had never felt before.

She took a step back to catch her breath, hiding her tension by asking about the store. “So how long have you been in Coupeville?”

“Two years.”

“Hm. Are you sick of it yet?”

He chuckled. “Not yet. The community has been more than welcoming.”

“Of course they have. There’s nothing _sexier_ than a British man in an American coffee shop” she teased, finally acknowledging his accent.

“Ah, so that’s why all of my patrons are happily-married woman.”

“Well it’s not considered ‘cheating’ if they’re just staring right?”

“What is with your attitude?” She turned, startled at his abrupt accusation. He looked stunned himself, shaking his head quickly. “No, sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just… can’t help but notice you have a bitterness in your voice when you speak of this place.”

She still felt a little annoyed at the question, but she brushed it off. She had been giving him unnecessary indignation, and he was not to blame for it. “I… have history here.”

He perked up, listening intently as he finished frothing the milk. She continued; “I grew up here. You know the haunted-looking estate at the top of the hill?” He nodded. “That’s my place. Technically. I inherited it after my mother died.”

“Oh. My condolences.” He added, sounding genuinely sincere.

“Thank you, but that was five years ago.” At that reveal, she noticed a stir in his expression, as his eyes dropped to focus on pouring the milk into her cup. She sighed. “So you’re aware of the legend huh?”

“I-“ he hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “I was made aware by the locals. They all told me the same thing – that it was best to avoid the house at all cost. And anyone who _dwells_ there. Honestly, it all sounded ridiculous.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s cursed or anything.” She played with a frayed seem on her cardigan, knowing full well that that was a lie. _Of course_ they were cursed.

“I know. I’ve spoken to your… sister? Melanie?”

Ah, yes. The sister who had stayed in this stupid town. No, she couldn’t fault Mel. She had been the closest to their mother, and had been there the night she died. She kept it all closed off, like it was a secret she could not yet reveal. She had even sent off both her sisters with warm wishes. There was no hatred between the two. In fact, she was envious of the way she could bottle everything up. She wished she had that ability too – to put thoughts and feelings away, to never see them again if she wished to.

She couldn’t say the same about Maggie. The youngest of the three was trekking her way through Los Angeles, only offering updates through her spontaneous social media posts. Macy guessed in her own way, that was Maggie’s means of putting the past behind her, as unhealthy a lifestyle as it was.

Macy had thrown herself into her work, dealing with complications she could at least find answers to. She had searched this island end to end for any explanations of how her mum died, or why she died, and had come up empty. So she had refused to stay, and was still questioning why she suddenly decided to return today, after all this time.

“She’s nice” he continued, speaking fondly of Melanie. “She often picks fights with the woman of the Bridge Club. She even threatens to cast spells on them if they keep rolling their tongues the wrong way.”

“Sorry, what?” she asked, startled by his nonchalant demeanour to this news.

“She really takes the whole ‘magic’ thing seriously, huh?” he joked. “I frequent her shop sometimes. She has some beautiful pieces.”

She sighed inaudibly, afraid for a moment her sister had gone and done something reckless. Like reveal their family’s secret legacy, _for_ instance. “Yeah, she does” she brushed off her jitters with ease. “That was my next stop actually.”

Harry hummed, sliding the full cup of coffee over to Macy. She shook out a sachet of sugar and poured it in. “I haven’t seen her in five years. _Jesus_ , this is gonna be rough.”

“I’m sure it will go fine” he reassured, laying his hand on the table. Their fingers were almost touching. Somehow, she could feel the assurance radiating off his skin. And just as suddenly she could feel his aura. It was as strong as the second-hand air conditioner that blew rapid bursts of cool air through the café. She shivered in response, quickly removing her hand to pick up the drink. He in turn brought his hand back to his side. “I am quite a good listener, you know.”

She peered up, melting beneath his warm stare. She hoped her cheeks weren’t blushing too hard. “I can tell.” She held up her drink. “Thanks for this. Uh, how much-“

“Oh, no need.” She looked up, once again startled by Harry’s casual deflection. “Consider it a ‘welcome home’ gift, from your favourite local bistro.”

“Oh, you’re selling me your service instead?”

“Of course. Four more coffees, and you can get a free slice of banana bread.” He leaned forward, holding a mouth to his hand in a pretend whisper. “Store bought, of course. Who needs that fresh crap?”

She laughed out-rightly, unable to hide her amusement anymore. “Ok, you’ve sold me. But if by chance, the fifth time I stop by you’re _not_ annoyed by me, then I’m buying _you_ a drink.”

“Challenge accepted.” His smirk grew wide, exaggerating his dimples. They might be Macy’s favourite feature, followed closely second by his cocky attitude. She had not intended to make friends on her return. But if anything good came out of this trip back to hell, she was glad to have made one.

She quickly bid him adieu and exited the store. As the door closed, she sighed. The street was still as busy as ever. It was amazing how time had felt unimportant while talking to Harry. Like nothing mattered but his words. His attention. Suddenly, she craved more of it.

She turned, watching him wipe down the table with the spilled tea on it. Had that even happened that morning? It felt like that had never happened at all. As she gazed in longing, Harry looked up. Meeting her gaze, he returned the smile. It shone brighter than the sun.

She looked away, knowing now her blush was evident for everyone to see. She quickly fled across the street, the distance feeling stronger the closer she got to Melanie’s shop, and the further she got from Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @ [katasstrophee](http://katasstrophee.tumblr.com/) for more Hacy content.


End file.
